Masterpiece
by mothermedusa
Summary: Oli Sykes/ Original Character oneshot. Masochist sex.


I watched with a devilish grin as the blood poured from his nose, down his chin, to his naked, tattooed chest. I didn't think I had hit him that hard, but I wasn't going to regret it now; the blood just turned me on more. I knew it did the same for him, despite the fact that his nose could possibly be broken. We didn't care; we were sick, we enjoyed this. It was normal for us.

My shirt was ripped, I had random streaks of blood all over me, cuts, scrapes, knife wounds, you name it. We were sick fucks and enjoyed drawing blood from each other. It didn't mean we didn't love one another, though. In fact, Oli was the most important person to me and meant more to me than my own life. I would die for him.

A small smirk slowly made it's way onto his face. Before I could think of what he would do, a knife was hurling toward me. I ducked, but it was too late; the knife had grazed my shoulder, leaving a long, bloody mark. I stood up straight and stared at him for a moment.

Instead of acting like a timid little bitch, which is how I acted toward other people, I boldly walked over to Oli and slapped him as hard as I could. I grinned an evil grin, watching as his head whipped to the side. Usually, he would look straight at me right after, but this time, he didn't. He kept his head to the side and closed his eyes. I knew what was coming. This was what I wanted.

In a matter of seconds, Oli had me thrown back against the wall with his body pressed against mine. I moaned at the pain with a large smirk on my face. I wasted no time wrapping my legs around his waist. His hands hungrily ripped at the shirt on my torso. He quite literally ripped the thin fabric off and threw it to the floor like it was nothing, because that's what it was now; nothing. I would have to get new clothes soon if this continued.

He took the time to actually take my bra off, though, because he knew I would seriously get angry if he broke it, considering he broke all my other ones in a matter of three days.

Oli ripped me from the wall, his hands gripping my ass so I wouldn't fall. Sure, we threw knives, slapped, punched each other, but none of those things hurt us anymore, because we were so used to it. Just because we did those things to each other didn't mean he didn't care if I got seriously hurt or not, because he did. When we weren't in the middle of a sex war, he constantly worried about me, constantly made sure i wasn't going to get hurt or anything. Most girls would bitch and complain about how they would be fine, how they could take care of theirself, but not me; I loved that he watched over me, because it meant he truly cared. He knew how to hurt me without actually hurting me, which is why we were so comfortable kicking each others ass.

Oli slammed me into another wall just as he kissed me. I moaned out against his mouth as we fought for dominance. Once again, we were away from the wall, him carrying me toward the bedroom. As soon as he got close enough, he dropped me onto the bed. I bounced a few times before he was on top of me, ripping my shorts and underwear down my legs.

"Get on your knees." He commanded as he leaned over to grab a pair of hand cuffs out of the nightstand. I did as I was told and stood on my knees with my back to him. I even held my hands behind my back so he could slap the cuffs on. He made sure they were tight, tight enough to dig into my wrist. He grabbed a handful of my hair and forced me to turn over, then made me lay back.

He wasted no time and dove right in, licking, sucking on my clit, causing me to squirm around in pleasure. His large hands held my tiny hips down in place as he continued. I begged him to stop, to just fuck me already, but I got no answer, nor did he stop. After a few minutes, though, he did, but continued to rub my cit with his thumb as he moved up closer to my face. His mouth was dangerously close to mine, but refused to connect our lips.

"What? I couldn't hear you, love." He smirked, knowing he was fucking with me.

"Oli, please..." I whined. I needed him and he knew it. He pressed his lips against mine for a moment, then ripped himself away from me completely. He turned me over into my knees once again, bent me over and grabbed the handcuffs, almost pulled my shoulders out of place, but I didn't complain; I liked it. He wasted no time shoving himself in to me.

-

Oli gently took the handcuffs from my wrists and kissed each one of the wounds they caused. He turned me over carefully and took my face in his hands.

"I love you, Natalie." He whispered, staring into my eyes. That's what I loved most about him. He was so gentle, yet could give me the best, mind blowing, masochist sex I've ever had. I knew he would never hurt me outside our sex escapades. He could and would never. He was so careful, cautious with me outside of the bedroom. I knew every time he looked me in the eye that he loved me and will always love me. Ever scratch, every bite, every bruise, every wound, he gave to me with love, as did I to him.

I wiped a bit of fresh blood from his nose and kissed him. "I love you, too, Oli."


End file.
